Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (50 page)

Gooseflesh flared across his cool skin and he frowned, confused. Breaking his gaze he realized Elizabeth was the first person not to place expectations, requirements or honour bound duties upon him. She was demanding nothing from him and was accepting of whatever he could give. This was unprecedented. Meeting her sadly smiling face he shook his head. “I...I don’t know what to say.”

She took his injured hand in hers. “There’s nothing to say. Just be.”

He huffed out a pent up breath and looked at her with the   expectation of deceit and received only open honesty, confusing him further. He needed to think, to digest the full implications of what Elizabeth had said despite the fatigue he finally allowed himself to feel. Turning away, he opened the door and halted when she did not release his hand.

“You may want to sleep in something, pyjamas, whatever. Vee has a friend sleeping over,” warned Elizabeth.

He nodded his appreciation as her hand slipped from his,
allowing him to retreat to the guest room, questions and confusion muddling his min
d.

Elizabeth watched him leave the room before she stumbled, catching herself as she grasped the counter in an effort to make the washroom cease to spin. She recognized the sensation and was surprised that it hit without being in Circle with her coven. Then again, she realized, she had not experienced it as she should have. She placed her other hand on her forehead and the room snapped back into reality, causing her to gasp.

You have done well, my daughter
, came the chorus of female voices.

Elizabeth knew the sound was inaudible regardless of how it reverberated in her skull, but the reality of whom she heard stole the strength from her legs, forcing her to sit on the closed toilette seat, head in hands. She blew out a shaking breath and grounded and centred herself. Never before had she heard or felt Her presence so strongly before. Then it hit her – everything that had happened this morning had been with Her presence upon Elizabeth. It explained so much, but left incalculable questions racing through her mind. Elizabeth lifted her head and stared out the door her guest had disappeared through moments earlier, the all-prevailing question overriding the others.

Who are you?

No answer replied.

With a shaking inhalation Elizabeth sat back, resting against the tank.

Ever since he had come into her home she felt inexorably
drawn to him. She had not lied when she told him that he had been the best sex she had ever had. Never before had she climaxed
through penetration alone. The intensity of those waves of pleasure
had been greater than what she could give herself. Even now her body thrummed with desire to be taken by him again while her heart wanted nothing more than to save him from more pain and brutality.

Tears flowing down her face Elizabeth realized that she cared deeply for him as her body craved him and for the first time in her life she knew what it was to truly love a man.

The chorus of female voices resonated through the room, We have chosen well.

H
e floated between the realms of sleep and the lands of wakefulness as he watched the familiar nightmare blossom the stabbing pain in his side.
In alert detachment the fear did not startle him into consciousness as it usually did. Instead he witnessed Jeanie’s feasting with a sense of fatalism. A part of his mind rationally recognized the impossibility of such an event, but his heart still ached.

The pain in his side turned into a burning and he looked down to see Geraint’s sword impaling him through the abdomen. He knew he should be alarmed at the black snake serpentine up his chest and down his torso but he only had eyes for the black grip, silver pommel and battered guard. Despite the burning weakness he could only smile – it was his father’s sword! He had once had a father and a sister!

Darkness crashed down, obscuring the view of the hilt. Jeanie was nowhere to be seen.

“He abandoned you,” floated a voice behind his right ear. He recognized the creature and grew angry. “He left you to die.”

Denial shook his head, sending white locks floating in the Void.

“Why do you deny it?” The voice slid to the other ear.

He frowned, turning his head away from the voice made of dry leaves. The question echoed unbearably through his soul. Why did he deny the fact that Geraint had left him for dead an never claimed him when he found his son was still alive? Why the pretext of being a teacher of the warrior arts and not be the father he should have been to a boy desperately in need of one?

The answer ricocheted through his being. Because to accept the truth would mean he had found the reason why he was always abandoned, especially by those claiming to love him.

“But that isn’t always the case,” buzzed the voice in both ears.

Images of others flashed before his eyes. People who had cared and even who had loved him where time and distance  separated, flowed like water across his vision. He saw his old master at the Chinese monastery when he was healing from the wound he took in service to King Richard. He saw other teachers, other masters. Visions of Tarian and Tarian’s grand-daughter tugged him.  Auntie and Geraint and Eira.

Jeanie.

He knew the truth. 

It was not only because of how he appeared but because all things had a beginning, a middle and an end, over and over. He was eternal, unchanging.

Until now.

A clatter broke his attention and he saw Geraint’s sword suspended in the darkness surrounded by rose petals the colour of blood. He reached out and grabbed its hilt and brought its sparking surface to his face. He was not alone. The sword, as unchanging and eternal as himself, held the memories of those who loved and cared for him. Though they did not claim him, they cared for him. This was the barrier kept others away. It was the fortification that armoured his heart against loss. It was the only gift his family ever gave him that had not succumbed to time and decay.

“But is that enough?” The rasping flowed from above.

“I don’t know,” he replied. He tightened his grip and lowered the point. The band around his heart squeezed.

“And what of Notus?” The voice floated out of reach.

Hurt and anger flared through him at the mention of the monk’s name. Of all the betrayals, of all the pains inflicted upon him both mental and physical, through the ages, this was, by far, the worst. Notus was supposed to be the father he never had, the mentor that had guided him, the one who would never leave him because of the love they shared. They had been eternal together. Now there was no going back, even if Notus begged for forgiveness, which was unlikely. The wound was too new, too raw, and wept red blood.

He fell to his knees in a bed of rose petals and roared his frustration, loss and pain until the darkness vibrated. Tears flowed as he bowed his head, hugging his father’s sword to his chest.

Diffused daylight burned his eyes and he blinked back tears, rubbing them away with the back of his hand. It took him a moment to recall that he lay on his good side in the guest bed and closed his eyes as the thought of his hostess evoked memories of what had transpired between them. He could deny it no longer. He was attracted to her, and what she had said to him only made him more confused about his feelings. One thing was painfully obvious as he gingerly rolled onto his back, his ribs protesting, was that parts of him reacted to Elizabeth without his conscious consent. The sudden sensitivity to the duvet’s weight and the throbbing pressure between his legs proved it.

A sense that he was being observed made him glance over at the room’s entrance to see Vee standing there and glaring at him, her arms crossed over her chest, a dour expression written across her pale face. He could have sworn he had closed the door when he went to bed this morning.

“You left me,” stated Vee, angrily.

He winced as he attempted to prop himself up on his forearms,
thankful for Elizabeth’s wardrobe suggestion when the duvet slipped from his chest to his lap. He was unconcerned with Vee seeing the marks on his arms below the t-shirt. She had already seen those. It was the full extent of his damage that she did not need to see.

“You disappeared, left, and never came back,” continued Vee. “I didn’t know where you went, and I looked. You were supposed to drive me home too, you know. I was gonna call mum to pick
me up but I didn’t want her to freak. Shell’s car was full. If I hadn’t run into Karsha I’d still be stuck downtown. You abandoned
me, you asshole.”

Vee’s growing rant and advancement forced him to sit up on the side of the bed, his sleep dishevelled hair falling to cover half his face. He met her blue sparking eyes, so similar to her mother’s, and noted she too did not flinch from his stare. It was what she said at the end with her finger punctuating each word by stabbing it into his white cottoned chest that forced him to avert his eyes.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Vee shouted.

He knew she was right. He had abandoned her and left her to find her own way home. It was a feeling he knew full well. At least she had a home to find. It was also a remarkable blessing that no harm had come to Vee in his absence, considering the type of patrons that filled
The Veil
. The full impact of what his selfish move could have caused flashed an image of Vee lying dead    beneath a streetlamp, stealing his breath in an airy apology.

“Damned straight you’re sorry.” Vee uncrossed her arms and turned on her bare heel to leave in a swirl of black and red skirts. “Oh and mum wants you downstairs. Some sorta police lady’s here.”

He frowned at Vee’s retreating back as he rose to his feet. All thoughts of what he and Elizabeth had done together were dashed to the side. His frown deepened as he closed his door. He raked his hair from his face, sending the fall of long white locks down his back and winced as the movement pulled at his healing ribs.

Walking over to the dresser mirror, he lifted the cotton shirt exposing the swatch of beige across his pale white skin. Above the bandage, peeking over, his damaged ribs leaked black, blue and purple. With a sigh he lowered the shirt and turned to find his black jeans on the floor. Clutching his aching side, he picked them up and slipped on the tight fitting trousers. He walked across the broadloom to the stairs and slowed his pace suddenly unsure of why a police officer would want to see him.

Images of the two fights filled his vision. What if the police found the impaled bodies and traced them back to him? No longer Chosen he could not redirect their investigation.

Quietly he descended the stairs and followed familiar voices into the kitchen until he halted at the sight of Elizabeth sitting at the table sharing coffee with Detective Donaldson. His stomach fell and he suddenly wished that Elizabeth had not drawn the curtain. A hasty retreat would have then been understandable. As it was, it was too late, both women saw him and stood.

“I wasn’t sure Vee was going to wake you like I asked,” smiled Elizabeth. She turned to the counter, grabbed a plate and poured a mug of coffee, placing them in the empty space at the table. It was clear this was an invitation to join the two women and his stomach agreed at the sight of the sandwich on the plate obviously meant for him.

Unable to shake Detective Donaldson’s querulous stare he ignored her as he stepped forward to pull the chair out from the table opposite from her. He matched glares and was surprised as she leaned in closer.

“Get into a lot of fights?” Detective Donaldson canted her head, long corn row braids of black hair brushing the table. She ran her gaze over his healing split lip and the scars on his arms.